


Wrought Iron

by avalonroses, snowyfoxpaws



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4613481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonroses/pseuds/avalonroses, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowyfoxpaws/pseuds/snowyfoxpaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every day it drew closer.</p>
<p>Arthur was twenty. <i>Twenty.</i> The big 2-0. It was when your age stopped beginning with a one and started beginning with a two. It meant your life, should you live it out in full, was a quarter over. </p>
<p>But, for Arthur, it meant his life already <i>was</i> over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I: Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work co-written by [avalonroses](http://avalonroses.tumblr.com/) and [snowyfoxpaws](http://snowyfoxpaws.tumblr.com/).
> 
> This work has been fully completed and will be updated as edited.

Every day it drew closer.

Arthur was twenty. _Twenty_. The big 2-0. It was when your age stopped beginning with a one and started beginning with a two. It meant your life, should you live it out in full, was a quarter over.

But, for Arthur, it meant his life already _was_ over.

In fact, now his life was beyond over. He was past twenty and his feet hurt for it. He hadn’t been deaf to the worried whispers of his parents when he’d come home for Christmas. He hadn’t been oblivious to the subtle frowns of his schoolteachers as they bid him farewell. The physician hadn’t been able to hide her surprise when she looked at his chart at a checkup months ago and saw he was nineteen and a half. Everyone knew what that meant but those that dealt with omegas specifically knew more than anyone.

Arthur wasn’t an idiot. When winter break approached and everyone was going home for the holidays, he knew it was the last time he would see any of his omega peers. And some of the smarter ones knew they’d be seeing him for the last time too.

Because, naturally, he would remain home and his parents would find him suitors and he’d choose one, finally, and stop milling about with sixteen-year-olds who only pretended to care about maths but were more interested in mates.

Omegas didn’t need to learn. They were taught to bide time until they were taken care of—it was a distraction and a bloody good one. Even he had been tricked by it initially, up until he was fourteen, when his omega cousin arrived at their footstep in the rain, crying, and his parents had ushered her in. Not half an hour later, before the freshly made tea even had time to grow cold, men were at their door and they dragged her away, his cousin screaming obscenities at his parents for betraying her.

She had just turned twenty.

After that he had kept his eyes wide open and what he saw astounded him. How could no one else see it too?

When omegas disappeared he was told they had found a mate—that they were happy, finally. And he, being an omega, needed to keep his mind on that mission too, for the good of humanity. His mother had been an omega, a sweet woman always, and she was birthed by a male omega, and so on. That’s just the kind of family they were.

His father told him that they were the lucky ones.

That _Arthur_ was a lucky one, born last, the only omega amongst a myriad of alpha brothers.

He was ‘a catch’.

And now he dared the whole lot of them to _catch_ him.

The morning of his twentieth birthday would have had cake and gifts and men in dark suits and he wanted none of that, so he left. He slipped out in the black of night with a sack of supplies and a bottle of heat-snuffing pills and he ran. And he ran and he ran until months had passed and he was nothing more than a dirty mongrel.

But at least _he was free._

And yet it grew closer still.

It was by no means paranoia; Arthur knew his intuition was right. Someone was trailing him, maybe miles behind, but they were there. Experimentally he had left places only to circle back and find his ‘home’ disturbed. He knew by now to trust his gut.

Where did those omegas go when they didn’t find their mates? He had theories. The government called them crazed ideas and they were ridiculed often, but he had the sneaking suspicion that that meant they were right.

He obtained a gun, somehow. It had been an accident, really, but he held onto it. Thievery was never his strong suit but when something was constantly after you then you learned how to protect yourself. After that came bullets—he was haggard; he was terrified—but at least he had bullets.

Arthur honestly wasn’t sure if he could use it on another living creature, but it wasn’t a terrible idea to turn it on himself if the situation warranted it. It was wonderful having that kind of _out_ on hand at all times: he could be truly free, forever, should he want it.

But he wasn’t going to give up, or so he told himself, until he got sick and _the thing_ caught up.

It had been a cold—a stupid, _stupid_ cold.

Regardless, his senses had gone muddy and his limbs weak from malnutrition and dehydration and he’d wavered in his flight, stumbling and coming to rest in an abandoned warehouse, breathing in dust and covered with a blanket that had seen better days. Maybe if he slept, then he would feel better. Just an hour. Just two.

And then he awoke, light was streaming in through the cracks in the ceiling, to the sound of a door somewhere and he floundered with his gun, pressing it into the unpracticed hold of unsteady fingers as his lungs shuddered to take in air and his heart escalated into a panicked frenzy.

It was here. _It was here._

He abandoned his sack and his pathetic scrap of a worn blanket and squeezed himself into a corner behind an empty crate.

Maybe it wouldn’t find him.

And maybe, if it did, he could try and kill it.

 

 

Alfred had breezed through life, ever since an early age, achieving had come naturally to him. As a child he had excelled through school, accumulating a wealth of friends and impressive grades. Always the top of his class, always voted the most likely to succeed, always wearing the brightest smile. That was Alfred F. Jones—charismatic, intelligent, optimistic, _alpha_ —he was gifted and, hey, it’d be stupid not to take advantage of it.

He’d led an ordinary life, ticked all the right boxes, no questions asked. It wasn’t until he’d packed his bags and moved to university, leaving a bare bedroom and a weepy mother, that Alfred’s perception of the sunny little world he lived in changed.

University had been a douse of cold shock for the young alpha. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d lived a somewhat sheltered life in the pretty suburbs with his alpha-omega parents and omega twin brother. His family, in all their wisdom, had immersed their household with the unquestionable, ingrained rule of society—to know one’s place in the clockwork of life—and abiding by those rules granted contentment.

Alfred agreed, wholeheartedly, with their philosophy. Rules were there for a reason and instincts were the foundation of civilization. Alphas, betas and omegas each had their own responsibilities to be fulfilled. But, as he had learned, there were those who didn’t care to comply with their natures.

Those that rebelled against the system.

Namely, omegas.

It had baffled him at first, why an omega would want to run away from a life of happiness with a mate and children and security—it was pretty weird. That’s what omegas were inclined to do, after all, settle and nurture their offspring. Then words like ‘inequality’ and ‘discrimination’ and ‘injustice’ had floated past Alfred’s ears and it had suddenly made sense to him—these omegas needed _help_ finding their way.

Omegas were gentle creatures, easy to rattle, and without the right upbringing, it was understandable that they would spook and feel there was no choice but to flee from home, or, as it usually went, go on a mad goose chase across the country. Omegas just weren’t equipped to survive alone, not without an alpha counterpart.

Which was why Alfred had made the heroic decision of dedicating his life to the misguided omega strays.

Fresh from university—well, as fresh as a student could be—Alfred dove headfirst into the brutal training of becoming an omega tracker, a specialist branch of the police, a career comprised solely of locating and capturing runaway omegas. It was a courageous, rewarding job and, he wasn’t going to lie, it also attracted a lot of omegas which was always a bonus.

Alfred soared through the program, being the fine specimen of alpha he was, and it wasn’t long before he was receiving praise for his first case on the job: a twenty-one year old female who had been fudging her records and had eventually resorted to jumping from motel to motel. Alfred caught the girl in just a few hours and had her reunited with her promised mate before the night was out.

_Job done._

Alfred was proud with the knowledge that he was doing the right thing, that he’d strove to spend his days realigning those less fortunate than him on to the path of straight and narrow. Discovering the omegas, half-starved and quaking, their eyes sunken and their scents sour with fear only strengthened Alfred’s belief in the decency of his profession.

It was just another day at the office when Alfred was assigned the Kirkland case. His boss was quick to dole out the facts—a run-of-the-mill circumstance: unmated omega turns twenty, omega runs away from home. Nothing Alfred hadn’t seen a million times before.

The approximate location they were given, from a tracking device that was fixed under every omega’s skin at birth, was _miles_ away from the guy’s home. There was no doubting this omega was running on fumes by now.

Alfred didn’t bother hiding the excitement thrumming through him at the thought of catching an omega that’d hightailed _that far._ Determined little guy.

With his keen nose, and Alfred had a _damn_ sensitive nose even for an alpha, and the use of the tracking coordinates, it was never finding the omega that was the difficult part—it was coaxing them into safety without causing them any harm or having the omegas bolt off.

The further they travelled, the more evident it became that the Kirkland kid did _not_ want to be found. But he was going to be, whether he liked it or not, because, after weeks of pursuing the omega like a pack of ravenous bloodhounds, Alfred had led his team directly to him.

The omega’s coordinates stilled in a vacant, industrial warehouse, blipping sure and steady on the screen, and Alfred knew from experience the omega had most likely succumbed to sleep, too weak to continue.

For the sake of disturbing the omega as little as possible, Alfred ventured into the dark warehouse alone, his team at the ready outside. Omegas that had been missing for such a long period of time were notoriously prone to unpredictability and, if they felt cornered, violence.

Hushing his breathing, Alfred braced himself for the aspect of the job he hated—seeing the broken creatures for the first time.

And Alfred _could_ see him too, jammed into a narrow space, compressing his bony body in on itself, his hand tremoring like a crashing drug addict around the handle of a gun.

Reaching for his tranquiliser gun, Alfred knew with absolute certainty that this omega was going to be volatile and fight until the bitter end.

 

 

Arthur felt a fear so visceral it became tangible coils that wrapped around his skin and warped his senses, mind reeling at the barely audible touch of footsteps on old concrete before a figure peered in at him momentarily. All he could see was the brief glint of light reflecting off of glasses but it was enough to tell him all he needed to know: _it_ was here, _it_ had found him, and now _it_ was going to drag him away kicking and screaming.

“Go away.” Arthur heard himself ground out, his voice a mangled thing almost more animal than human. _“Go away.”_

His hands shook violently and before he knew it he had squeezed the trigger. Something hot met his arm and he yelped, but as far as he knew he hadn’t hit anything if the pang of old metal was any indication. Regardless, the echoing blast made his mind ring, sound suddenly cutting out in his ears.

His breathing quickened.

God he was going to get dragged off to one of those facilities—he’d seen the pictures, too. _You couldn’t fake that._ Omegas in medical gowns with thick collars and defeated faces, some fat with children they never wanted in rooms with a small bed, toilet, and dingy grey carpet. If they weren’t ‘compliant’ enough they stayed in the facility ‘for the sake of the omega and child’ until the birth. If they weren’t ‘compliant’ enough, they could end up living there forever, fed meals in a guarded room like prisoners, as though they might try to suffocate themselves with a spoon, while their offspring was off with some alpha in a home they would never know.

Some wised up, they said. And some became born again, suddenly declaring that they had learned their place and they were happy to be mated— _fulfilled_ —and no longer wanted to be separated from ‘their alpha’. But the internet couldn’t hide the dirty truths that filtered up in dark, secretive places.

Omegas were raped, their bodies invaded, drugged, shackled, whatever it took to get them to bear children. For good of society; for the good of humanity.

_Know your place._

Arthur didn’t want that. He didn’t want a forced family. He didn’t want to be toyed with like he was someone’s play thing or possession. He’d seen those omegas in public that smiled through the misery, a weariness so intense it sat in their eyes like a plea at all times.

It was a far cry from the chittering excitement of teenagers rounded up in an omega education facility, awaiting the happy day they could receive their brand of ownership from their alpha master. Alphas didn’t care about omegas—they were simply possessions. They were _incubators._

Panic spiked high and hard, invading his scent and spreading out like a wave. It was an instinctual response, pleading for some alpha, _somewhere,_ to save him, however unintentional and unwanted it was. Desperate tears streaked Arthur’s cheeks; he didn’t need a hero.

He had a gun.

And so, fearing the worst, he made to turn it on himself.

 

 

The voice was small, gravelled against a dry throat, but the words were coated with frightened, blackened conviction.

The presence of a gun smarted against Alfred’s nerves, teasing his instincts closer to the surface—nothing ended well when unstable omegas and guns were involved, Alfred had lost some good alphas to bullets holes.

Couldn’t these omegas understand Alfred was doing what was _best_ for them?

Alfred heard a click and, before he could draw another breath, a bullet clattered against a creaky metal shutter, ricocheting in an erratic mess of directions. The alpha’s heart lurched in his chest, his mind plunging into a heightened state of survival, and he ducked behind a crate. He was sure a wounded cry had followed the gunshot and it didn’t take much to add two and two together—the omega had no idea how to handle a gun. Unsurprising.

He waited for his pulse to level, listening to the stuttered breathing of the Kirkland kid, and planned his next move. Of two things Alfred was sure: the omega was most likely irrational with panic, fraught with a searing injection of terror, and his hearing was impaired from the gun’s explosion of sound.

Now was the best time to confront the omega—he was at a clear disadvantage.

Alfred was just in time as well because the stupid thing was pointing the _fucking gun_ at his own head. He dove towards the smaller male, movements practiced and precise, and twisted the omega’s arm in a way that would spread pain across his bicep. As expected, the guy hissed, his fingers slackening and dropping the gun into Alfred’s awaiting hand.

 

 

A crackle of pain shot through Arthur’s arm as it was tugged in an unnatural direction by a hand with firm, iron fingers, and while he couldn’t hear the cries of pain that bubbled up in his throat, nor the sound of anything more than a muted shuffle and a headache-inducing ringing, he could still _smell._

His senses scrambled for purchase: acidic gunpowder, rust, dirt, and an alpha—oh Christ, _they’d sent an alpha._ The enemy, all spice and fire and intoxicating medleys of a thousand other things combined in a dominating presence that weighed down on him and made him want to lay flat like a whipped dog and show his belly. His father was an alpha; he knew how they controlled you. They grabbed you and shoved you around and yanked you and if they really wanted to keep you then they bit you too. But their scent was the most traitorous thing—it was _biological warfare_ on any omega with a semblance of backbone.

_‘Dear, I think we should consider—,’ Arthur’s mother, dinner, a fond look at her mate from across the table._

_‘I told you I’m tired. Shut up.’ Arthur’s father, busy eating._

_And a wave of something in the air that made all of Arthur’s nerves stiffen, just as they did in the other omega present. Compliance. Obey. Scent. A command._

No, no, no.

Arthur kicked and twisted and, his arm be damned, clawed at the other human— _the alpha_ —hoping to hit something, anything, even if he was pinned back and trapped in this small space, even if his gun was removed from him…

Even if this was the end.

He was going to fight.

 

 

Alfred was met with an onslaught of fists and feet and even teeth at one point, the jabs fitful and desperate, only occasionally making contact and never having any sort of debilitating impact. The blows were akin to whispers of silk across his skin. The omega was willowy—sickeningly thin—and writhed underneath Alfred, blindly looking to run, to escape the inevitable.

_Damn, this guy was determined._

“Hey, calm down,” Alfred tried to reason with him, voice low and dulcet in a way he’d been trained to know was placating against an omega’s nerves. But in this instance, it didn’t _help at all._ “Listen to me, I’m trying to help you. I’m gonna take you somewhere safe—”

The omega only persisted in thrashing, slithering about like a cornered snake, and Alfred was left with no choice but to shove his weight on the smaller male, putting an end to his moving limbs, and pinched the thin skin at the back of the omega’s neck, hard, rendering the man limp, helpless to the potent, deep-rooted influence of an alpha.

“I didn’t want to have to do that… and I didn’t want to have to this either,” Alfred said, prodding the tranquiliser into the skin of the omega’s arm. “But it’s for your own good.”

 

 

A neck grab—the last ditch utility of alphas everywhere. It was playing dirty, Arthur thought, because his body stilled against his own command, muscles not going stiff but relaxed, as though this were the most peaceful thing in the world.

Yet his heart thundered in his chest as though it were trying to escape his body and fear prickled at his every nerve. This tactic could be abused, too, and it was now as far as he was concerned. But nature dictated that it was either listen or be killed, primal and base as that was, and his physical vessel chose self-preservation in the form of mutiny against his brain.

He felt the needle that pricked his arm, stinging and drudging up memories of getting vaccinations as a child. Oh, how he had always hated shots. Oh, how he had bawled like a child…

But wasn’t he crying now? Or were the hot tears streaking his cheeks all some kind of illusion— _a dream_ —because now it was fading into a sleepy darkness as, for the first time in nearly six months, his mind went blessedly quiet.

And the black of nothingness embraced him.

 

 

The omega surrendered to sleep within seconds, the assortment of chemicals pulsing through his system, seeping heavy into his heart and slowing its function until he was in a near comatose state. It wouldn’t last too long but it would last long enough for Alfred to get him secured into the van.  
  
Wrapping an arm underneath the omega’s knees and throwing another around his shoulder, Alfred lifted the man up—almost reeling from the lightness, he couldn’t have been heavier than a small child.  
  
He emerged from the dark murk of the warehouse, finding his team hovering about the vans, similar to vultures over an old carcass, guns held with steel grips.  
  
“Got ‘em!” Alfred declared, smile flourishing with a warm fizzle of pride, and he received a smattering of cheers from his colleagues. “You can get going, guys, I’ve got it covered from here.”  
  
Gilbert, one of the more rowdy trackers, smacked Alfred on the back—almost dislodging the unconscious omega from his arms.  
  
“We heard a gunshot—we almost came in after you. Everything go okay in there?” The white-haired man questioned, lips twitching with boyish anticipation. Guns, fights, omegas—what more could an alpha want? “Didn’t get shot, did you? Should I check for bullet holes?”  
  
“Nah, I’m fine,” Alfred said, Gilbert’s grin seemingly infectious. “This little fella here was the only one who nearly got shot, but I got the gun out of his hands. I don’t know how he survived this long…,” Alfred mused, sparing a glance at the omega’s face, now illuminated by shimmery, dawn sunlight. Alfred hadn’t really paid much attention to the photo identity paper-clipped to the case file and he was taken aback by how _pretty_ the omega was.  
  
Alfred wondered what colour his eyes were. He’d bet his last dollar they were as clear as blown glass.  
  
It was almost disappointing, seeing him under the sun’s glare—the omega’s delicate features, soft eyelashes and porcelain-pale skin—it only made the man’s absconding all the more difficult to understand.  
  
What possible reason did this guy have to abandon his home and his prospects—he must have had alphas lining up for just a whiff of his scent.  
  
“He survived—that’s the important thing. Otherwise we’d be in trouble,” Gilbert responded, delivering Alfred with another clap on the shoulder. “We got called in on another case so we’ve gotta go assist some dumbass a few cities over who, _hilariously,_ scared a pregnant runaway into labor. See you at the office!” Gilbert called, trotting around to his van as someone roared the engine into life.

“See ya!”  
  
Alfred climbed into the back of his van, dropping the omega into one of the seats with all the carefulness he could muster. His body tensed, muscles tightening, when the omega’s head slumped forward on to Alfred’s shoulder and the omega’s scent assailed his nose—untainted by fright. It was sweet on the tongue, the smell of flower beds warmed by summer and fields of ripening fruit.  
  
He must have lost his mind, banged his head or some shit… that was the only explanation Alfred could conceive of for the omega, who was essentially _catnip_ for alphas, making his way out to the middle of nowhere and nearly killing himself in the process.  
  
Ensuring he was strapped to his seat, nice and tight but not enough to inflict pain, Alfred locked the back of the van and jumped in the front, ready to close up the case and kick back with a beer and some awesome new action movie at home.


	2. Act I: Chapter 2

Reality swirled in as a muted sensation of moving, the feeling only more disorienting for its direction—the nostalgic memory of sitting on a bus next to his mum, facing inwards at the other passengers, and the crowding presence of his father and eldest brother as they sat on either side of them like personal guards.

As Arthur roused, his vision spun like it did the time he had gotten into the wine over a holiday and he was forced to pinch his eyes shut to stop it, a groan rising to his lips that sounded like he was hearing it through several layers of thick cotton. He was nauseated but hungry, dizzy, thirsty, exhausted but aware, his senses tingling to life little by little, and his skin prickled with gooseflesh as he tried to understand what it was that was happening.

He felt sick, his clothes were damp with sweat and ruddy with dirt, and his hair clung to his face. Taking another breath, he opened his eyes again and squinted at his surroundings.

Arthur soon realized that he was in some kind of… vehicle. His body was strapped to something soft and there was a black mesh of cagey looking metal to his right and a darkened window to his left. The light above him was soft and dull and easy on the eyes.

The van hit a small bump and he suddenly felt a lot more awake.

_It had him._

He’d been caught.

 

 

It was only fifteen minutes into the drive when Alfred heard the frenzy of breath from the omega, the shuffling of fingers against the bonds as he roused, flitting to and fro, no different from a firefly captured inside a glass jar.

“You okay back there?” Alfred asked, one eye on his front mirror and one eye on the barren stretch of road ahead.

He was answered with the sharpening of air moving in and out of the omega’s lungs, rapid and insufficient, and Alfred wasn’t surprised that he had begun to hyperventilate, though that made it no less inconvenient for the long journey ahead.

The alpha pulled over and hopped out of the vehicle, fiddling about with locks until he could access the back of the van. The omega’s eyes were wide, glistening with the darks of his dilated pupils, and he was doubled over, struggling against his restraints.

“Hey, _shush_ ,” Alfred soothed, approaching the omega with cautious steps until he was close enough to kneel in front of him.

“You’re safe,” Alfred informed him, voice honeyed with reassurance. He reached out to take the omega’s face in his hands, guiding him so his eyes met Alfred’s in a vibrant burn of gem-green. The touch of an alpha was the most effective remedy for a distressed omega, the envelopment of the pheromones released in contact a taste of serenity to their senses.

And, to Alfred’s relief, it worked.

It didn’t always—depending on how strongly a particular omega felt towards an alpha. The Kirkland kid obviously didn’t _blindly_ hate Alfred otherwise Alfred’s touch would only have amplified his panicking.

“I’m going to get you some water, if you think you can manage it?”

If not, Alfred was going to have to go into the messy business of drips and force-feeding which was never enjoyable.

 

 

Arthur was prepared for a _faceless enemy_ —dark eyes and a grizzled jaw and the threat of violence against his person if he didn’t cooperate, cool and unwavering and controlling and _alpha_. Instead he flinched as light burst in from the back of the van and a different sort of figure emerged into his space, like some kind of whimsical day god, all blue sky and golden sun with a cloud speckled horizon drawn out like a stage curtain behind him. Arthur was too startled by his appearance to kick or spit or bite out and too drugged to think logically.

He was really pretty… This thing…

This… _alpha._

It was difficult to hear the stranger’s words when it felt like something was covering his ears, but the soft noises were discernible at such a close distance and he _did_ actually feel himself relax, much like a victim might at the sight of an EMT. The man bespoke of help in some small, sad part of Arthur’s mind.

A bottle was pressed to his lips, like a sippy cup designed for adults, but he was too fatigued to find humiliation in it as it was tipped, water spilling into his mouth and igniting in him a sudden and vicious _thirst_. Brought on by instinctual desperation, he guzzled the liquid so quickly he inhaled some and began to hack wetly on the substance.

 

 

The omega was dazed, as if everything was but a fuzzy, heat-soaked mirage to him, his eyes darting in and out of focus even as Alfred presented him with water and encouraged him to open his mouth and accept the beverage.

The guy really had done a number on himself and Alfred hoped for both their sake's that he didn’t slip into some kind of serious illness.

Relief bloomed over his body when the omega gulped the water, greedy and with no intention stopping, and then Alfred’s relief was short-lived, scampering off somewhere, when the omega started choking, a coughing fit grating at his throat.

Alfred muttered an irked ‘ _seriously’_ under his breath as he took the water away.

He wasn’t mad at the omega, he was mad at himself for not having had the forethought to know that after months of surviving on limited supplies, the omega would _of course_ react in this manner.

Alfred was supposed to know this stuff. And he did, he’d just felt… _sorry_ for the little guy.

He patted the omega’s back, coaxing the water to head in the right direction, until the smaller male’s breathing evened and he wheezed, eyes watering with the exertion of having nearly hacked up a lung.

“Okay,” Alfred chirruped, aware that the omega would still be in need of water. “Let’s try this again. I’m going to give you a little bit at a time but, don’t worry, you’re going to get as much as you need so take it easy, yeah?”

Arthur’s hearing was dampened but he understood… and nodded.

Even if he had nearly choked on it, he was still fairly parched, and while a better side of him might have snapped that he could help himself drink just fine, that wasn’t exactly easy to do in his restraints. But he was tired—so, so _tired_.

And some traitorous part of his brain registered that this alpha was taking care of him and it absolutely reveled in it, disgustingly embracing the situation like a starved man after food, lips parting to receive the water that was trickled into his mouth in short intervals, overly aware the heated, steadying hand on his shoulder.

When the bottle was finally taken away he felt his stomach slosh with water, but the feeling wasn’t uncomfortable, and before he could realize it he was already starting to doze off, head lolled against the cushioned backing.

As the omega slipped under the veil of unconsciousness for the second time, Alfred made use of the unobserved window of time to rummage through one of the ice chests crammed with food, collecting a hearty meal and plenty of snacks because—hey—he was a growing alpha and he needed all the nourishment he could get.

After consuming enough food for three grown adults, he was ready to hit the road again. And boy, was the road _boring._ Save for a sprinkling of motels—the buildings always seemed to have been built with a shabby, post-apocalyptic aesthetic as inspiration—and, yeah, some fast food places, there was no presence of humans anywhere.

He didn’t hear a peep out of the omega who was so out of it, he must have been frolicking with the fairies. The silence was numbing enough that Alfred surrendered to his doubts regarding the omega’s health and pulled over to check the man’s pulse. Once he’d ascertained that he was alive and well enough, the alpha stopped at an abandoned office building to relieve himself and had a few hours of rest, taking the liberty of placing a sensor on the omega that would alert Alfred should there be any significant movement.

The omega remained stiller than a sculpture and Alfred managed to squeeze in three hours of shut-eye in his driver’s seat.

It was only after twelve _solid hours_ of sleep did the omega stir, windpipe purring as his mind accelerated forward with alertness and his body lagged behind. Alfred had tallied up a total of three drive-through meals, two naps and one embarrassing incident wherein he may, or may not, have gotten lost. Nothing destroyed an alpha’s reputation like finding said alpha furrowing brows over an upside-down map.

“Afternoon, sleeping beauty!” Alfred called to the omega, oddly cheery considering his lack of decent sleep.

 

 

Arthur, as punctual and precise as he had been in his schooling years, had also experienced the disorienting sensation of missing an alarm. It was a strange feeling wherein the senses tingled with distress while the mind was still lax in a haze of calm. That was similar to the feeling he had as he stirred, eyes opening but unseeing at first as he blinked the sleep from them.

Then the inky tendrils of awareness crept into him as he looked down at the restraints that crisscrossed his torso. He couldn’t even move his hands to tug at them, his wrists locked in place near his hips, and dread swirled with panic as he realized _what,_ exactly, must have happened to him.

His hearing was no longer muffled and the ringing in his ears was a faraway, headachey creak, but none of that mattered when _they had caught him._

The pleasant voice that skittered into his senses seemed surreal under the gravity of the situation and Arthur wasn’t afraid to admit that his emotions were culminating together in something akin to sheer terror.

And _fury._

But he didn’t deign to reply to the stranger— _the alpha stranger_ —instead jerking his body in his restraints and focusing on loosening them somehow, because a caged animal doesn’t have time to worry about the handler when there’s the sheen of steel between them.

 

 

Silence. Unlike the heavy abyss of silence when the omega had been asleep, this was silence with a _punch_ —a point. There was no way he hadn’t been heard and, as Alfred spied the omega through the lattice of metal separating them, there was no way the omega wasn’t awake.  
  
Alfred moved the van to the side of the road and cut off the engine.  
  
“I’m gonna come back there to get you something to eat—bet you’re hungry, huh?”  
  
Alfred didn’t wait too long for a reply, he already had the feeling he wasn’t going to be receiving one. He jumped out of the vehicle and unlocked the back, wariness following him as he stepped inside.

 

 

_The handler was in the pen._

But Arthur was a lion bound.

Although he stopped struggling at the restraints, he didn’t stop considering his escape, eyes hungry not for the food (although he was admittedly famished) but for the freedom that lay beyond those open doors. If only he could just manage to get free…

The ambiance surrounding the omega was decidedly different than it had been twelve hours ago. There was a luster of madness in his eyes, a smear of frothing rage that Alfred didn’t like the look of—and he wasn’t too keen on the desperation on the omega’s face as he eyed the open doors of the van.  
  
Alfred shut the doors.

“Sorry, buddy, you’re not going anywhere. I’ve gotta keep you safe,” Alfred informed him. The omega could keep his mouth shut all he wanted but that sure as hell didn’t damage his hearing.  
  
Approaching one of the ice chests, Alfred grabbed another bottle of water—reminding himself to take it slow this time—and some protein-rich food and nutritional supplements. Gathering what he’d retrieved into his hands, the alpha moved closer to the omega, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with an innate sense of expectancy.  
  
This omega wasn’t stable and he wasn’t going to cooperate. Alfred knew that look.  
  
“I know you’re not going to make this easy but you need something to eat and drink otherwise you’re going to get sick. Now, I’m gonna untie your hands but don’t get any bright ideas because I really don’t want to have to hurt you.”  
  
Alfred nodded, more for his own good. That was a fair enough warning in his book.  
  
Setting the food and water down, he unraveled the binds around the omega’s wrists, careful not to pinch skin.

Arthur rubbed at his newly freed wrists, the ability to move his arms and hands marginally lessening the feeling of claustrophobic entrapment. And then he scowled at his captor openly, not even bothering to hide years of resentment as he said, “Liar. You work for the OBP; your _job_ is to hurt people.”

He had expected to be caught eventually as a worst case scenario, but it was disconcerting for his hunter to pretend like it was anything other than what it was: enslavement.

And it was almost maddening that he was just so bloody _cheery_ about it too.

Wow. Okay. Alfred hadn’t been prepared for a response quite that acidic. It was the first time the omega had uttered any words, except for his croaks in the warehouse but the man had barely been comprehensible, and Alfred found he missed the omega’s quietness.  
  
He blinked at the smaller man, the accusation trickling into Alfred’s stomach as if he’d swallowed a spoonful of poison.  
  
And then indignation crackled under his skin, painting a cloud over his high-spirits.  
  
“I don’t _hurt_ people,” the alpha contradicted. “But that’s rich coming from you—you tried to shoot me. It’s not my fault you ended up hurting yourself.”  
  
Unscrewing the cap of the water bottle, Alfred met the omega’s eyes with a hard stare.  
  
“And I don’t work for the OBP, not that there’d be anything wrong with that. They’re doing a good thing, they take care of omegas like you—omegas who need help. I’m just the guy that does the rescuing.”

Arthur seethed.

“Rescuing? _Rescuing?_ What, like some kind of _imbecilic hero_ in an action film?” Arthur shot back. The nerve of this alpha, acting all high and mighty because he wasn’t the one strapped down! “Do you even realize what they _do_ to omegas at the OBP? Or do you just not care?”

Ignorant idiot or malicious sociopath—pick one. And here Arthur had been caught by some starry-eyed youth like this? Absolutely pathetic of him...

Great, Alfred internally groaned, he’d been assigned one of _those_ cases. An omega with an attitude.  
  
Despite himself, he felt his jaw twitch, his mouth wanting to run away with itself, defend his honor against this puny, self-righteous omega who didn’t have any idea how the world worked or who he was speaking to.  
  
Because, if not the omega’s redeemer, Alfred was an _alpha,_ and he wasn’t just going to sit back and take that from an  _omega_ who was essentially a messy bundle of issues and misdirected anger.  
  
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Alfred spoke up, voice hardened with annoyance. “If I hadn’t found you in that warehouse, you would have _died._ Call it what you want but without me and my team, you’d be going home in a body bag.” The alpha crowded himself over the other man, satisfied when the omega withered as much as he was able—intimidated. “And I don’t know what your problem is with the OBP but when you’re handed over to them, you’ll see you’ve been scared of nothing.”

 _‘Powerplay.’_ Arthur’s mind muttered cynically. _‘Whenever an alpha can’t win with words, he resorts to his innate power over omegas...’_

Wasn’t that why this country was shite in the first place? Dominated by alphas who couldn’t tell competence from a strong scent and thought they were all that because they owned hands that could easily squeeze at the neck of a disobedient omega. Even the dumbest of apes could do that, if trained!

And then there were the complacent betas, who kept their heads down and bowed to the whims of the alphas, disregarding the omegas that their higher ups took interest in. At least _betas_ didn’t have to worry about being turned into some sort of breathing breeding machine—they could live their lives largely as they pleased, by their own merit.

Arthur didn’t meet the alpha’s eyes as he muttered a petulant, “I would much  _rather_ be dead, quite honestly...”

Alfred faltered; it was an involuntary reaction—his muscles going lax and his body retreating from its hunch over the omega. He felt a pinch in his mind, a flowering of startled confusion and he wondered if his ears had failed him.  
  
The omega had made the statement with such passion and resignation, grim and seeping with blackness. His eyes had dulled, the evergreen stained with grey and for a moment, Alfred was unsettled, an unnervingly empty feeling falling into his stomach, convinced by the omega’s words. But then…  
  
What a little actor. He was really laying it on thick, wasn’t he?  
  
He shook his head, realizing this situation for what it was: an omega with a penchant for melodrama.  
  
“You’d rather be dead than living a happy life with your perfect mate and a bunch of kids?” Alfred questioned, disbelief tinting his voice. “Are you always such a drama queen?”

Arthur blinked, scandalized, before it melted into a fiery glower, “I beg your pardon?” He snapped. “Apologies if I don’t dream of being a subservient child-factory for some esteemed alpha like yourself.”

Alfred snorted.  
  
“Trust me, I don’t want _you_ to have any of _my_ children.”

Truth be told, Arthur had never taken much of an interest in alphas himself, but that had never prevented _them_ from taking an interest in _him._ That was the game, wasn’t it? Omegas were rare and any alpha would be delighted to have any omega. That’s why the facility wanted him so badly, wasn’t it?

And yet here was this pompous _arse of a man_ —giddily brainwashed and bending over backwards for his superiors—claiming that _Arthur_ was not worthy of _him?_

It was positively ludicrous. This ignorantly backwards example of the alpha species would be absolutely blessed to have a mate like Arthur! Any alpha would! He, unlike too many of his peers, had brains and courage and wit!

So, needless to say, the insult struck deep, whether Arthur wanted it to or not.

“I suppose we can agree on that, then.” He spat acidically. “Should you never breed, the world would be a better place for it.”

 _That son of a—!_  
  
Alfred squashed down the growl crawling up his throat, refusing to rise to another of the omega’s attempts to rile him. He was above the plights of petty little omegas, especially ones divorced from reality and showing no signs of intelligence.  
  
He sucked in a sobering breath through clenched teeth and curled his lips into a sickeningly sweet smile.  
  
“Oh boy, they’re going to have one hell of a time matching you with an alpha. You’ll probably be infertile by the time they find someone stupid enough to be your mate.”

“Wouldn’t that be _absolutely wonderful._ ” Arthur enthused as his skin prickled with rage and he held eye contact with the alpha, unwilling to back down even as the man kicked him lower and lower with every word. “In fact you would be doing the facility a favor by releasing me—then they wouldn’t even need to bother!”

“No can do!” Alfred said, his grin ever widening as he unwrapped the foil from the sandwich that he’d left sitting on the floor. He was sorely tempted not to feed the _asshole_ but he knew the omega was starving, Alfred could detect the omega craving salt and fat and meat on his scent.  
  
That wasn’t to say Alfred couldn’t have some fun at the omega’s expense—it wasn’t as if the man didn’t deserve it.  
  
He took a wolfish bite out of the corner of the sandwich, chewing slow and inhaling with enjoyment, maintaining eye-contact with the omega throughout.  
  
“I wouldn’t worry too much though, there’re probably some masochistic alphas out there who’ll knock you up in no time.” He said around the food.

Arthur was absolutely, positively _steaming._

His stomach rolled at the sight of the sandwich, a mixture of nausea and hunger, the knot in his belly intensifying as the alpha took a bite out of it right in front of him like it was nothing, reveling in Arthur’s helpless position. _This_ was why he didn’t trust alphas. They were kindhearted only so long as you did exactly what they wished of you and the moment you disappointed them by having your own mind and thoughts and feelings they turned it all against you, like they were being put upon by _you_ , the omega—the villain.

Charming. He had been drugged like an animal and thrown into the back of a van and God forbid he be upset about it! No, these straps that locked him in were fine.

Salivating was something he couldn’t help, but he could still turn his head and stare out the visible windows through the metal mesh that separated them from the driver’s seat, his arms crossed. Two could play at this game.

All it really took was thinking about himself bearing a stranger’s unwanted child to make him lose his appetite anyway.

It took all of two seconds for Alfred’s amusement to dwindle, leaving a sour, deflated feeling behind. At the omega’s pout and refusal to look at him, he put the sandwich down, the flavors suddenly tasting like ash on his tongue.  
  
He was being a dick, not to mention totally unprofessional—his trainer would have waned with disappointment had he witnessed Alfred’s behavior.  
  
Yes, the omega was bitchy and irritating and Alfred _didn’t_ like him, it was amazing how a personality could detract prettiness from a face, but Alfred was the supposed role model here, he was the hero and the omega was one in need of support. Alfred’s purpose was to _help_ the omega, not play along with his silly games.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he ground out—apologizing had never been his strong suit. “I shouldn’t have said… well, a lot of that stuff. I get that you’re confused and frightened; you’ve been through a lot. But I really _do_ want to help you, I hate seeing omegas lose their way like you have and I’m gonna stick around until we can get you back on the right track.”  
  
Alfred pulled an ice chest towards him and opened it up in the pursuit of another sandwich.  
  
“I’ll stop somewhere to get you a hot meal but this’ll have to do for now. Just… take your time with it, I’m guessing you haven’t had a lot to eat for the past few months so take it easy and eat slow.”  
  
Outstretching his hand, Alfred presented the omega with the sandwich.

The _last_ thing Arthur had expected from an alpha—let alone one this young and dumb and prideful—was an apology. Alphas didn’t _apologise_ to omegas, because what they did was always right or however that logic went. True, he didn’t know very many of them, but his father had certainly never said those words to his mother despite them being happily mated and his brothers had never so much as even hinted at remorse for their brutish behaviour.

Yet here was this alpha sent to capture him, holding out a sandwich with the words  _‘I’m sorry.’_ hanging between them. Arthur may have goaded him, but that was his right; he was the victim here. This alpha was the enemy and the sentiment he held was still tremendously offensive. Arthur wasn’t a lost lamb that needed shepherding, no matter what the male before him thought.

However...

If he wanted to escape then he was going to have to get his strength up. Starving himself further would only expedite his delivery into the hands of the facility. He would be shooting himself in the foot to refuse a meal now when all that would result in is being force fed in a few days’ time.

So he carefully took the sandwich, avoiding anything akin to brushing against the alpha’s fingers, and brought it closer to his body. He was still frowning and he still refused to look at him or say anything and he didn’t particularly wish to eat it while the alpha watched…

But at least he _would_ eat it.

Alfred prevented himself from becoming ruffled by the omega’s lack of thanks or acknowledgement of Alfred’s kindness. He’d accepted the food, and, by extension, Alfred’s apology and that was all the alpha had to concern himself with.  
  
He couldn’t, however, stem his thoughts about the omega. Namely, his sympathy towards the people at OBP, because they had their work cut out for them—this omega was definitely beyond recovery.  
  
That, thankfully, wasn’t his problem.  
  
“I’m Alfred, by the way,” he said as the omega nibbled on the sandwich.

Arthur filed that away under ‘names of alphas I don’t like’. This Alfred, as typical as he was, was no exception.

He swallowed the sliver of bread in his mouth and regarded him, “You already know my name.” He said. “And I’m sure everything else, down to what my favourite colour is.”

Sheepish, Alfred darted his gaze away, dropping it to his hands.  
  
“I… uh—actually only looked at your surname. It’s really not that extensive, only what we need to know… I could guess your favorite color?” Alfred offered, shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh.” Arthur blinked. He had been so certain that his father would have rattled off his entire life’s story if the man thought it would help them locate him. And it wasn’t like his medical records lacked all sorts of invasive details about him. Ignoring the comment about his favourite colour, he resigned himself to admitting, “It’s Arthur…”

“Okay, _Artie,_ ” Alfred replied, his mood brightening at the small victory. He exercised an impressive amount of tact— _for him_ —and chose not to reveal that it was straightforward enough to access anything and everything about Arthur—right down to the exact date and duration of his last heat—but Alfred got the impression Arthur wouldn’t react too favorably to that tidbit of information.  
  
Though, a traitorous pocket of his mind was intrigued…  
  
“I’m gonna guess… blue?”

Arthur frowned at the nickname but his expression eased into light petulance at the alpha’s next words. “... Good guess.” He conceded. He would have suspected the alpha to have thought green—most people believed he favoured that color if his array of mother-gifted Christmas sweaters was any indication.

But the sky wasn’t green and the ocean wasn’t green and both represented unlimited and boundless freedom…

What he would have given, in that moment, to just sail away.


	3. Act I: Chapter 3

As the van was tailored to suit the requirements of an omega, down to the temperature monitor that often left Alfred in hot sweats—life would be a lot easier if omegas weren’t so _freaking_ cold all the time—the alpha made the decision of loosening Arthur’s restraints, allowing Arthur access to the ice chest should he need food or water. Alfred was safe in the knowledge that Arthur had no route of escape or weapons that could be classed as _weapons_. A water bottle or a half-eaten chocolate bar didn’t exactly instil fear in the alpha.  
  
Alfred was behind the steering wheel in no time, driving towards the mounting, afternoon sun. He ignored the drowsiness welling inside him, reasoning that the longer he kept to the road, the sooner they’d arrive at their destined location.  
  
The sun wasn’t in his line of vision when the engine coughed out its first splutter but the sky was ink-splattered with autumn orange and royal purple—an indication of the sun’s slope towards the horizon.  
  
The vehicle jolted, tossing Alfred about in his seat, and most likely Arthur too, then made a clattering sound as if someone had thrown marbles into the belly of the car.  
  
And then, nothing.  
  
Alfred reignited the engine again, and again, and again until he barked out a _‘fuck you’_ and bashed his hands against the steering wheel, maddened by the sound of the engine _not starting_.  
  
“Fucking great.”

 

 

Admittedly Arthur was tired, and there wasn’t much to gain from provoking the alpha while the man was driving, however there _also_ wasn’t too much he could do with what he had available to him—he wasn’t entirely keen on making himself sick off of water, after all.

His legs were still fully bound, so it wasn’t like he could pace. He’d tried fiddling with the mechanics of his restraints, but he didn’t understand the locking mechanism and the alpha’s eyes occasionally flickered to him every so often, so he found it wiser to explore that method of escape later.

Except maybe he wouldn’t have to.

As the car stuttered and came to a defeated stop and the alpha in the driver’s seat cursed at it, Arthur perked up. This was it—this could be his big chance. Even if Alfred left him for a short time, it would give him free reign to try and work himself loose. And if Alfred took him with him, then he could make a run for it when the alpha wasn’t paying him any mind.

So it was that the omega’s ears pricked for information as he tried to look only mildly interested in the ongoings before him.

 

 

Lifting the hood proved to be a fruitless endeavor as Alfred was met with a fog of hot steam and hissing water leaks. A busted radiator was fixable—if he wasn’t in the middle of endless, desolate nowhere.  
  
Of course, the next plan of action was to check his phone, which, of course, had diddly-squat in the signal department.  
  
Alfred slammed the hood closed, attempting to dilute the storm of anger that had overcome him with violence, and, truth be told, after kicking the wheel a few times, it did serve as a somewhat cathartic balm on the alpha’s shredded nerves. As the rage seeped from him, Alfred felt the sturdy, entrenched methods of survival float to the forefront of his thoughts, the thoroughness of his training suffused into every inch of him, preparing him for unlikely scenarios such as this.  
  
First thing’s first: Arthur had to be dealt with.  
  
Alfred didn’t doubt for a second that Arthur was already giddy with the prospect of escape, possibly gnawing at his restraints, not that that would do him any good other than leave him toothless.  
  
Throwing open the doors of the van, Alfred’s suspicions were confirmed. Well not the gnawing, but Arthur’s eyes were animated, almost luminous, with the plotting happening behind them.  
  
The van was a lost cause and Arthur couldn’t be trusted, not for a second.  
  
The night hours were galloping over the horizon, stars already encrusted on to the darkening sky, and it wouldn’t be long before it’d be bitterly cold.  
  
They needed to find shelter and Alfred would have to carry as much in supplies as he could manage—Arthur’s capabilities in carrying anything that weighed more than a feather wasn’t something Alfred wanted to put to the test.  
  
Opening one of the overhead compartments, Alfred retrieved a briefcase-like container and unlocked it in front of Arthur, knowing what the omega saw inside wouldn’t be well received but it was a necessary evil. A wave of colorful, vicious curses flew from the omega’s lips as Alfred approached him with the collar, too weary and short-tempered with residue frustration to debate with Arthur’s squirming and protests, and made short work of fastening the contraption around the man’s neck.  
  
“You didn’t really give me a choice, Artie,” Alfred said through a sigh.  
  
The alpha tightened Arthur’s restraints, keeping him in place for the time being, Alfred had to focus on packing everything as compactly as possible before he’d have to deal with getting the leash on Arthur and making a mad dash with the omega in search of safe shelter for the night.  
  
This case wasn’t turning out to be as fun as he’d hoped.

 

 

Arthur watched as Alfred saddled himself with bags, the alpha loading up whatever precious equipment the van had with the intention of taking it with them. Re-bound, he could only watch as the man shoved a backpack full to bursting.

All the while the thick weight of a collar sat around his neck. It was mostly a leather-like material, but it definitely had more to it if the temporarily cool touch of some kind of metal was any indication. Either way he scowled at its use, suspecting that it might make his plan of escape a little less viable.

He outright _glared_ when a leash was affixed to it.

“What is this?” Arthur demanded as Alfred finally undid his restraints. The omega’s muscles twitched as one by one they were freed, his senses twittering with delighted anticipation at the prospect of leaving the van. “I’m not a dog, you realize. Do you treat all omegas this way?”

He tried to maintain his bitterness, but it was only a thin veneer over the mousey part of his brain that chattered on eagerly about exit strategies.

“If you weren’t making it so obvious you want to escape, I wouldn’t have to use it. Guess you’ve only got yourself to blame,” Alfred said in a tight, no-nonsense tone, his typical sunny disposition stifled under the onslaught of stress pumping through his blood. God, he hoped they weren’t as stranded as the landscape surrounding them suggested.  
  
The alpha set off in a direction that appeared the most promising in terms of human life, taking one last, remorseful glance over his shoulder as they moved further away from the van.  
  
It became clear after a mere _five minutes_ of walking that Arthur wasn’t going to cooperate, if the omega wrenching against the leash and dragging his feet at every opportunity was any indication. It wasn’t that Alfred couldn’t overpower Arthur, in terms of strength, Arthur was hardly going to win any contests, it was just _annoying_ and the omega wasn’t going to achieve anything by it other than them having to resort to sleeping on the gritty earth for the night. That way, they both lost out.  
  
With his patience in tatters, Alfred found himself with no choice but to threaten Arthur. For every time the omega pulled, Alfred was going to pull back, harder. He wasn’t proud of the threat; he’d meant it when he’d said he didn’t want to hurt the omega, but Arthur was really pushing his luck, burning Alfred to the end of his wick.  
  
It worked. Arthur stopped, opting to instead remain tempestuously silent, his scowl biting ice into Alfred’s back.  
  
Alfred didn’t mind too much as it beat having to cause injury to the bitchy omega.  
  
After half an hour of rapidly deteriorating daylight and the infinite dirt track, a single gas station came into view, illuminated by glaring bulbs. If Alfred hadn’t been so exhausted, he would have done a fist-pump. With the cutting cold having burrowed into his skin enough to bother the alpha, which was saying a lot because Alfred was at a comfortable temperature walking around naked in his apartment in October, he couldn’t have found the gas station at a more convenient time. Arthur had been pretending not to shiver for at least fifteen minutes.

The alpha wasted no time in locating the cashier and hassling the man for the number of a local mechanic and requesting to use their phone, offering a moving explanation of the tragic breakdown of his van for added sympathy points.

In the end, it was his omega tracker uniform that won the cashier over, and the irritable omega attached to him via collar and leash, arms crossed and thick eyebrows drawn into an expression of unreserved sourness.  
  
Arthur presented a striking resemblance to a hissing alley cat that had been dipped into bathwater then domesticated by a family with a lot of children.  
  
Unsurprisingly, no one was able to see to Alfred’s van until morning which meant the alpha was going to have to arrange some sort of accommodation for the night. He tapped in the number for his superiors, launching once more into his long-winded tale of woe only to be met with an unembellished response, his superiors essentially telling him to buck up and deal with it himself. And going into explicit detail in regards to the consequences of not delivering a captured omega.  
  
_Bunch of dicks._  
  
Alfred slammed the phone down, cringing when Arthur started at the abrupt reaction; the omega huffed about with embarrassment, flattening his ruffled feathers back into place.  
  
He had two more phone calls to make. One to book a room: double with single beds, of course, in the cheapest, closest motel, which also entailed it being the seediest motel, and another to book a taxi.  
  
Man, it had been a long day.

 

 

Arthur was tired.

He was tired, his feet hurt, his stomach pinched and knotted with hunger, he hadn’t been able to properly feel his fingers since ten minutes into the walk, and he just wanted to sleep, preferably somewhere without an alpha guardian hovering over him as though he were a mangy stray dog en route to the pound lest he infest innocent people with fleas and disease.

It had been a long day for him too.

Morning had him in warehouse and now, half a day later, he was being dragged around on a tether with only the wonderful future of induced heats and non-consensual conception to look forward to. And Alfred had the gall to wonder why he seemed so upset?

But his neck hurt from the few, vicious tugs the alpha had given it, something metal and sharp having bitten into his skin firm enough to bruise, he was sure, and he didn’t feel like messing about until he was bloodied—it simply wasn’t worth it.

A sliver of him whispered traitorous things about giving up and ‘going with the flow’, for if he abandoned his future then he could live a worry-free life. He would need not decide anything ever again other than what flavor jello cup he wished to delve into with a OBP-issued spork.

He squashed that part of himself down with a vengeance and kept his eyes and ears open for any possible escape.

Choosing not to speak to Alfred for the time being, he remained silent even as he was herded into a cab that stank of cigarettes, driven by a beta that barely glanced at them before giving Arthur a cautious double-take. The drive to the motel was annoyingly noisy between the chattering radio and the conversation his ‘handler’ engaged in with the driver.

The first thing Arthur said in a long while occurred when Alfred had already secured their room key, the alpha pulling wide the door and leading him into their shelter for the night. The room was more or less clean, as far as the human eye was concerned, albeit the floor had odd stains and there was a strange layer of dust on everything.

But what _really_ caught the omega’s eye, and prompted him to speak, was the single bed that sat in the center of the room, like a large, pink elephant that no one wanted to acknowledge.

“I thought you asked for two beds?”

Alfred squeezed the patch of skin across the bridge of his nose, rearranging his glasses, and groaning like an old man who had fossilized in his favorite chair, wary of his next attempt at standing.  
  
Yep, that was a double bed. Made for two people. To sleep in. _Together._  
  
He didn’t deserve this.  
  
Alfred considered phoning reception but recalling the beta woman who had greeted them, presented them with a key and wafted her hand in a manner that was supposedly an imitation of directions, not once looking up from her computer screen—she could have at least _tried_ to practice discretion while flicking through a social media website—as she popped stale-looking gum, Alfred thought it probably wasn’t worth the effort.  
  
“I did.”  
  
Alfred slumped on to the bed, dropping his bag on to the pillow and guiding Arthur to sit beside him. Despite the lumpiness caused by a combination of the too-thin mattress and abused bedsprings—Alfred _didn’t_ want to think about that—relief skittered up his spine, spreading, frothy and warm, over his legs and arms and he sighed, relieved to finally be off his feet.  
  
“Looks like we’re sharing a bed.”  
  
He leaned back behind the omega, turning his attention to the collar around Arthur’s neck and unclipped the leash, setting it on the bedside table.  
  
“Hold still while I take the collar off.” He almost continued with a ‘I don’t want to hurt you’ before realizing he’d only receive a snide comment.  
  
The metal clasp was an intricate piece of security, easier to put on than to take off, and it took Alfred a few minutes to release Arthur. Once the omega’s neck was free, Alfred felt as if he’d taken a sucker punch to the gut as a blotchy, swollen bruise on the back of Arthur’s neck made itself known, setting alight a fierce attack of guilt in the alpha, even going so far as to twist his stomach with sickness.  
  
He’d forgotten about the mechanism in the collar that gripped into the omega’s skin whenever there was resistance, inciting Arthur’s reflex to go limp as those nerves were manipulated.  
  
No wonder he’d been so quick to comply.  
  
“Fuck, I’m sorry… I forgot…” Alfred found his second apology to the omega escaping from between his lips, stammering and voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve got some salve in my first aid kit,” he supplied uselessly.

So the alpha hadn’t meant to wrench the collar against his neck with the force he had, Arthur mused—he’d just… _forgotten_. It was terribly asinine of someone for whom this was their profession, admittedly. Then again, an omega was valuable goods and from the twist in the man’s scent it appeared the damage to his neck was ugly if not superficial.

He wanted to be angry—to spew venomous words and grind it into the alpha _again_ and _again_ , until he understood Arthur’s every flicker of emotion and the very depths of his ire.

He wanted to be.

But he was tired. And cold. And hungry. And dirty. And his body ached. And he had almost shot himself in the face that morning, on purpose mind. And all in all he couldn’t be arsed to care.

“Whatever.” Arthur muttered, the word immediately causing him to internally wince. It made him sound like a petulant teenager rather than a young adult. But he continued, some of the fight drained out of him after a beyond wearisome day. “I have had worse.”

Alfred’s shame coiled tighter, squeezing his insides, and he hoped Arthur was referring to the normal lumps and bumps that occurred throughout childhood and nothing of a… sinister nature.  
  
Despite Arthur’s dismissal, Alfred opened up his bag and hunted for the first aid kit. He wouldn’t sleep easy if he knew he’d done _nothing_ to soothe any pain the omega was experiencing, especially at Alfred’s hand, however indirectly, and perhaps that was selfish of him, helping Arthur for his own peace of mind, but that wasn’t going to thwart the alpha.  
  
Squashing the tube of salve until there was a sizeable dollop of the tacky liquid on his hand, Alfred reached for Arthur’s neck, ensuring the omega had seen what he was up to so as to not surprise him.  
  
Arthur’s skin was cool, pebbled with goosebumps, and Alfred disregarded the fact that it was silk-soft, _omega-soft_ , against his fingertips. The smaller man stiffened as Alfred made cautious contact with the bruise but he didn’t resist which Alfred was grateful for.  
  
Utilizing his heightened sense of smell, Alfred sniffed at the air, subtle enough for Arthur not to catch on.  
  
The omega was… _miserable_.

He didn’t have to have a keen nose to figure out that Arthur was worn to the bone, famished and uncomfortable. How long had the omega been caked in crumbling dirt and grease? His hair was a matted array of discoloured blond, his skin scraped and filthy and his clothes no better than the rags off the back of a pauper.  
  
Arthur needed to be washed, he needed food and he needed sleep—in that order.  
  
“No offense, but you look like you need a shower. Might as well make use of it while we’ve got one,” Alfred commented. “I’ll order room service while you’re in there so there’ll be food waiting for you when you get out.”  
  
As loathe as Arthur was to do anything that Alfred suggested… that didn’t sound so bad.

In fact, it sounded ridiculously _good_ , all things considered.

“Alright.” Arthur agreed, getting up and making his way over to the washroom. Peering inside, he was annoyed to find a taller form come up behind him, and the omega shot the alpha a suspicious glare.

But Alfred just gave him a cheeky grin and said something about making sure he wouldn’t try to ‘squeeze himself out of a window’ and Arthur belatedly and woefully realized that that was a decent idea. Unfortunately the washroom had no windows, but only a vent in the ceiling to circulate out steam.

Pity.

Still, Arthur relished the feeling of shutting the door behind him and latching it closed, the sudden swell of temporary privacy overwhelming. At the facility he would be lucky to be able to use a toilet without the unblinking stare of a surveillance camera, but here he was assured that no such thing could have been arranged.

Stripping off months’ old clothing, he wrinkled his nose at his own state of being, staring at the grubby form in the mirror that belonged to him. When was the last time he had looked in the mirror, let alone naked? Had his skin always been this ashen? Had he always been this thin? He didn’t think himself unsightly, but he was a far cry from the bright-eyed, if cynical, youth that had escaped his own home.

His reflection stared back at him, equally tired, his only companion in this travesty they called _guiding lost omegas_.

His throat went thick and he turned away to swivel the shower tap to hot, watching as water cascaded onto old tile, splattering cold. After a minute it finally heated and he stepped under. Dirt swam off of his body in rivulets, forming a disconcerting puddle on the floor as though he were a child that had rolled in an incredible amount of mud.

It felt so bleeding _nice_.

How long had he been running again?

The tears started up before Arthur could stop them, silent rebels against his current predicament. If he gasped it was hidden by the sound of crashing water. If he leaned against the tile there was no one there to judge him for it.

After nearly five minutes, when his sudden fit collided with exhaustion, he took to scrubbing at himself with a soap bar he obtained from a plastic wrapper, just scrubbing and scrubbing until he couldn’t find anything left to scrub. And then he dumped the whole of the shampoo bottle, as tiny as it was, into his hair and focused on working out the matted tangles until his fingers were sore.

If he managed to escape, this could be a new beginning. He had to keep that in mind: this wasn’t over yet. The alpha had yet to deliver him into the hands of his enemies and Arthur needed to be vigilant. Complacency and depression would only breed defeat for him.

Feeling substantially renewed after nearly an hour to himself, Arthur stepped out of the wash and gave his discarded pile of clothing a disgusted grimace. Pulling a towel around himself, he unlocked the door and allowed the steam to roll out as he exited, putting on his best ‘I will not be trifled with’ scowl for the alpha he assumed to still be present in the room.

“I hope you’ve had the forethought to arrange some kind of clothing for me.” He quipped, like royalty to a servant, or a cat to its master.

 

 

Satisfied that Arthur wasn’t able to wiggle his way out of the bathroom, unless he shrunk down to pocket-size and clambered through the vent, Alfred extended Arthur the courtesy of permitting him to lock the door and take his sweet time in the shower—judging from the state of the man, he was in dire need of it.  
  
Alfred took the liberty of ordering everything from the questionable room service menu and, though he was sure there wouldn’t be people lining up to vouch for the quality of the food, there were burgers with mentions of extra cheese and crispy bacon which was enough to hush the qualms of his stomach for the time being.  
  
The alpha didn’t dare lie on the bed, knowing that would be a one-way ticket to Sleep City and instead, with no small amount of reluctance, he took out his laptop. Paperwork _sucked_ but it had to be done and reporting the chaotic events of the day was going to be one hell of a grueling task.  
  
Opening up a new report template under Arthur’s file, Alfred felt a tantalizing curiosity ooze into his thoughts, mushrooming across his mind like a pool of ink swirling in water until he was drunk with the urge to slake his interest.  
  
Omega trackers required very little information in regards to a case. Appearance, name, conditions of disappearance, etc. but history, medical details and such, were overlooked more often than not, it was considered dawdling to read that thoroughly into an omega’s file.  
  
Alfred was sure Arthur’s history didn’t contain anything out of the ordinary…

But he was loading the omega’s history files before he could stop to think about how spectacularly _pissed_ Arthur would be if he knew Alfred was snooping through every intimate detail of his past—not that Alfred was technically violating any rules.  
  
Darting his gaze to the bathroom door, the sound of the running water spurring the alpha on, Alfred read through the information on the screen.  
  
Finding that Arthur’s history was, as he expected, a near-replica of every other omega’s history, tedious in its normalcy, disappointment sprouted through Alfred’s curiosity. Apart from a couple of broken fingers from falling out of a tree and a spell of chicken pox, Arthur had been uninterestingly healthy growing up.  
  
Alfred flicked on to the documents under the timeline of ‘puberty onwards’, and, just as he was about to abandon the venture, his eyes skimmed over the subheading ‘heat’ and a primitive, wholly alpha aspect of his brain perked up.  
  
The text read:  
  
_Heat_  
Onset: 13y/o  
Type: Strong+  
Fertility: Strong  
Associated Details: Excessive lubrication during heat; patient reports of frequent, mild lubrication out of heat, cited cause arousal.  
  
Alfred devoured the words, reading them twice over, his eyes lingering as though he was no more than a ravenous wolf being taunted by a hunk of meat. He even felt a ghost of a throb in his pants.  
  
Groaning, the alpha threw his head back and pushed his glasses up so he could scrub at his eyes, as if to erase the information from his memory, which he knew wasn’t possible. Those words were seared there, branded, and would irrevocably color Arthur in a different light.  
  
Before Arthur had been a _job_ , a case, and now he was a person—an _omega_. A lusciously fertile omega with abnormally intense heats and… and… _god_ , he got so wet through all of them—even _outside_ of them.  
  
Alfred caught himself in a flurry of shame as his thoughts wandered, sinking into that same carnal place where his instincts were buried. He wondered what Arthur was like in heat, did he beg or was he the suffer in silence type? Did he writhe… did he touch himself?  
  
And to think, Arthur was naked in the next room, body slick and glossy with water, separated from Alfred only by a door, a thin door.  
  
A door that had been opened and was now framing said omega, clothed in only a towel. A haughty demand rolled off Arthur’s tongue and it drifted into a distant part of Alfred’s brain, barely registering.  
  
As if jolted by a sharp shock of electricity, Alfred jumped, slamming his laptop shut and straightening himself on the rickety chair he was sat in.  
  
It would be an overstatement to say Arthur was unrecognizable but it would still be _pretty darn_ close to the truth. Accompanied by the shroud of steam from the shower, Arthur could have been mistaken for an enchanting, mischievous fey creature, created to seduce the most stubborn of hearts, his eyes shimmering with iridescence and lips perfectly shaped as though from the brushstroke of a master artist. His figure was a picture of the fertility Alfred knew to be true, the gentle flare of his hips and the slightly thicker thighs, milky-white and soft, being a testament to that.  
  
Alfred crossed his legs.  
  
“You— uh—”  
  
To his utter embarrassment, Alfred’s voice broke and he was too late in catching the squeak that left him. He cleared his throat, feeling heat, bright and glowing, stain across his face.  
  
“You… clothes, yeah— I have them. Clothes, I mean.”  
  
Yes, retrieving clothes from his bag would give him time to compose himself but it wouldn’t help him recover the shattered pieces of his pride.

Arthur was nearly _thrown_ fabric and he floundered as he tried to catch the garments in one hand and failed. He had to kneel to pick up the other pieces, pinching them between his fingers as he stubbornly held his modesty in place with the towel.

The alpha was a moron if there ever was one and he was acting like a spider had just crawled up his back. Practically nude, the omega didn’t have time to reflect on it before he retreated back to the privacy of the washroom.

Which was where he dressed.

Slipping on clean clothing almost made him feel like an entirely new person. The underwear he was given were briefs, which was logical enough—he wasn’t ‘built’ like an alpha. With the secondary lining, it was clear these were for an omega, too. And then the shorts were unexpected but he supposed pants would be more hit or miss. They were white, clinical almost in nature, stretchy, and they barely touched his mid thigh. After getting by in tattered jeans for so long, his legs felt incredibly naked.

The strange part, however, was the shirt.

It was white too, but a dress shirt, overly large, and looked more like it belonged beneath a suit jacket. Glancing at the tag, it said medium, but there was no other discerning information. Maybe they had simply run out of smalls? Were it for an alpha, it should have been marked ‘A’. Yet there wasn’t even an ‘O’. Peculiar.

Sniffing it, it still smelled like fresh laundry, so he supposed it was likely just some stock item Alfred had grabbed rather than a proper one. It seemed something the alpha would do.

With a put upon sigh he slipped it on and buttoned it up, feeling as though he were swimming in the item. With his arms down it even covered half of the shorts itself and the sleeves revealed only the tips of his fingers.

What a bother.

But food awaited, from what he had smelled, so he exited the bathroom feeling silly and awkward in his mismatched wear, but undeniably more _clean_. And that was what really mattered.

 

 

As Arthur changed, Alfred busied himself with arranging the food on the limited space of the coffee table—anything to keep him from balling up, rocking in a corner of the room and licking at the wounds of his ravaged dignity. His only saving grace was that Arthur hadn’t asked any questions… for now, anyway.  
  
When the omega emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed, Alfred’s blush returned with a furious vengeance and his brain blipped, emptying of any helpful or intelligent thought, and he blinked dumbly at the omega.  
  
The fact that Arthur’s legs were _right there_ for anyone to see—for _Alfred_ to see—wasn’t the worst of it. No, the worst of it was that, in his senseless haste to cover Arthur, Alfred had thrown the wrong item of clothing and the omega was now swathed in Alfred’s shirt, the overabundance of fabric drowning the omega’s petite frame and the sleeves hanging past the omega’s fingers, reminding Alfred of a teddy bear in a homemade sweater.  
  
“That’s—… that’s my…”  
  
Alfred gave himself an internal kick, halting his mouth before it could run away with him. If the alpha wanted to keep the frayed remains of his pride intact, informing Arthur that he was wearing Alfred’s shirt wasn’t the best place to start.  
  
“Doesn’t matter!” the alpha blurted, directing his attention to food. Because food was safe, food was the one thing Alfred couldn’t mess up. “I didn’t know what you would want so I ordered everything. Help yourself to whatever…” _but the burger is mine_ , his mind finished.

The alpha’s sudden, flushed stammering wasn’t lost on Arthur, who noted the garment Alfred was wearing, official blue jacket now casually draped over the back of a chair, was _eerily_ similar to his own. It only took his brain a surprising two ticks to realize what the issue had to have been.

This wasn’t the right shirt—it belonged to the alpha.

Which only drudged up horrible thoughts on what _his_ shirt was supposed to look like and, if the shorts were any indication, he was probably in for the treat of some thinly-layered tank top. It wasn’t like he was deserving of _privacy_ when he belonged to the government, after all.

And so the omega crossed his arms and gave Alfred his best warning glare, daring the alpha to challenge him. “There isn’t anything wrong with what I’m wearing.” He decided aloud. “If you didn’t want me to have it then you should have kept it to yourself.” So it was his now, he’d put his foot down, and he wouldn’t be caught dead sleeping near the alpha in some dainty, _omega_ -oriented outfit. He could wear alpha clothing; he was tougher than the lot of them anyway.

Filled with self-righteous vigor, he sauntered over to the tray, grabbed the platter that boasted a fish fillet, mashed potatoes, and vegetables, and walked over to perch on the edge of the bed with a fork. Probably the last fork he would ever be allowed—then it would all be safe, plastic sporks.

And if there was any redness to his face at the idea of indirectly sharing an article of clothing with the alpha in the room, then it was all a figment of the cosmos’ imagination. It _certainly_ didn’t put any thoughts into his head and he _certainly_ wasn’t going to sniff it more closely the next time he went to relieve himself.

Alfred was an arse. He wasn’t worth the honour of getting flustered over.

Which Arthur was beginning to have to repeat to himself frequently, worryingly enough.

 

 

Arthur had _figured it out_.  
  
The alpha’s smile faltered as the blush seeped past his neck and underneath his shirt, causing a burst of nervous sweating. For a brief moment, Alfred considered packing up and outright leaving—it wasn’t as if Arthur appreciated his help and if he ever spoke of Alfred’s seemingly unending blunders, the alpha wouldn’t be able to show his face to anyone he knew again.  
  
He shook off the notion.  
  
Mortified as he was, Arthur wouldn’t survive without him and Alfred had a job to finish. And that was all Arthur was—a job.  
  
His only consolation was that Arthur had left Alfred’s precious burger untouched.  
  
He sat himself on the chair, as far away from the omega as possible, and focused every ounce of his attention on wolfing down his meal, not allowing his mind to ponder over Arthur’s motives for insisting on keeping Alfred’s shirt, with the knowledge that it was Alfred’s.  
  
Making short work of the burger, Alfred came to the conclusion that Arthur must want his shirt for comfort. An alpha’s scent must be a restful caress against the easily disturbed sensitivities of an omega. Arthur was using it to relax. That must be it.  
  
Alfred cursed under his breath when he realized his mind was steeped in thoughts of _Arthur_ and how effortlessly the omega had occupied that space.  
  
Observing the omega as he ate, cutting his food with such precision, as if he were a lord of a stately home and he was using genuine silver cutlery, the memory of reading through Arthur’s medical history resurfaced, rising to the top of his head like a helium balloon.  
  
Fidgeting in his seat, fingers tightening and loosening rhythmically on his plate, the alpha asked:  
  
“About your heats…”  
  
Arthur, who had been mid-bite of fish, hacked as he choked on it. Setting his plate aside, he took one of the cups on the tray—milk, he quickly realized—and washed down the stuck food. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he tried to collect himself, but he looked none-too-intimidating in an overly large dress shirt, hands on hips, face red-stained.

“What _about_ my heats?”

Alfred soldiered on, pretending to be undeterred by Arthur’s defensive stance.  
  
Man, if he didn’t get a pay raise after this case…  
  
“Your next heat isn’t due any time soon… is it?”

At that, Arthur faltered.

And then a slow, crawling sort of realization took him and he raised his hand to his chin in thought. Looking at the alpha, he frowned. “You… didn’t happen to retrieve my belongings from that building, did you?”

What Alfred wanted to say was, ‘Of course not, I was too busy trying to _not get shot_.’  
  
Instead, he settled for: “Nope. No belongings, just you.”

Arthur exhaled a shaky breath. How he had overlooked this for as long as he had was beyond him. He supposed that had to be due in part to the fact that he assumed he would be at the facility by now. He never thought ahead to how far it would be, let alone car troubles...

Moving his plate back to the tray half-touched, he found he didn’t really want to answer these questions.

“Does it matter?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Alfred answered, somewhat baffled by the question. How could it not matter? He would be in a _universe_ of trouble if he… well, anything... _happened_. Not that it would because Alfred was a professional. “If you go into heat, that would be a problem.”

Fiddling with one of his too-long sleeves, Arthur decided that there would be no beating around the bush here. “I—… I don’t really know anymore. I was taking medication…”

“What?” Alfred blurted, his eyes going wide. “You were taking medication? For all that time?”

“I... ye—,” Arthur flustered, wringing his hands. “Well! It was better than being raped by a wandering alpha, if that’s what you’re asking!” He exclaimed, going red in the face.

“Yeah, okay, that’s a fair point, but—!” Alfred set his plate on the floor so he could sift his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands. “Fuck! Taking medication for that long is going to have totally messed up your… you know…” Alfred flapped his hands in Arthur’s direction, searching for the word, “cycle. And now we have no idea when your next heat’s gonna be… and you have, like, crazy strong heats. This is really _not_ good.”

If Arthur’s face had been red, it was going pure crimson now. “You— How did _you_ know my heats are strong?” The omega pulled back in a gasp that would have been comical were this any other situation, his eyes narrowing with blackened suspicion. “You looked at my medical records you— you perverse— _alpha!_ ”

Well, shit.  
  
Damn it, he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut today, could he?  
  
Frustration at his own idiocy chased up his limbs, making his skin feel as though it was crawling. If Arthur was _that_ red, what must Alfred look like?  
  
“Only because I had to!” he argued. “And it's a good thing I did too, otherwise you wouldn’t have told me about this heat… thing,” the alpha added, face pinching with a childlike petulance. “I didn’t look because I _wanted_ to, don’t flatter yourself.”  
  
Arthur didn’t need to know that was the biggest load of bullshit that Alfred had said to anyone but his parents when he was a rascal of a teenager.

Instinct was like a secondary heartbeat and Arthur heard its dire thud for a brief moment in his chest. The alpha in the room knew _extremely_ intimate details about him, the limit to which Arthur couldn’t fathom but he could imagine, and that fact bounded around inside his mind like a mad bouncy ball in a small box. Alfred could hardly look at him and that spoke leagues more than the alpha himself did.

Arthur felt like a schoolchild again, reminded of the way he’d been coerced to an all-omega sleepover at the age of fifteen. Omegas loved prattling on about their heats, because that was one of the main factors that would help attract their mate. Around and around the circle they went, admitting their type with bashful faces…

_‘Mild.’ Arthur lied, digging his fingers into his palm. ‘I’m just… mild. Nothing too particularly interesting to boast of, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.’_

_‘Of course it will.’ Encouraged the next male omega, clapping him on the shoulder. He gave a sheepish smile. ‘I’m actually weak negative but my mum says I have, er… other assets, you know?’_

_Code for one of the many attractive features of an omega, but in this case it was likely fertility. Arthur nodded and wondered for not the first time why he was attending this little dorm get-together._

_‘Mine’s strong!’ A female omega chirped happily, gaining a few scowls from the less fortunate omegas. ‘What? We must deal with the hand we are dealt; don’t look so jealous.’ She giggled._

It was an omega fantasy to reveal that critically private fact to a potential mate. Or a nightmare, really, depending on what your stats were. But for those like Arthur, who could lift themselves into the upper echelons of omega-kind by revealing their heat type…

An alpha who was not a family member knew his heat type. The beat of instinct thumped again, jarring in his chest, hot and burning and spreading across his body to his fingertips and toes.

Arthur’s throat went thick and tight. “I’ll… be right back…” He managed, the words feeling strangely choked, before he turned and let himself back into the washroom.


	4. Act I: Chapter 4

“Arthur?”  
  
The omega skirted past Alfred, disappearing into the bathroom for the third time that night, abandoning his half-finished meal.  
  
“What are you doing?” Alfred queried, standing to move closer to the door. Silence was all he received in reply, his ears filling with the rickety creak of some sort of undetectable air conditioning system.  
  
He supposed Arthur having five minutes to himself wasn’t too much to ask—not that the omega had asked—but Alfred _had_ invaded his privacy and guilt found the alpha once more, swelling inside and tormenting him with the expression Arthur had been wearing when Alfred had, _stupidly_ , given himself away.  
  
The omega’s eyes had flashed with the burn of embarrassment, an involuntary show of vulnerability, which, though unlike Arthur, was understandable. An omega’s heats were personal, private matters, something to be shared with mates and, if necessary, doctors. Alfred had been within his professional boundaries in reading Arthur’s file, but that didn’t mean he should have just _helped himself_ then flaunted his knowledge in front Arthur, as if waltzing past with the last piece of coveted cake.  
  
“I’ll be outside… if you need me,” he said to the door, voice unsure and streaked with remorse.  
  
Cozying up with his laptop, Alfred commenced the long, arduous task of writing his report—he may as well attempt to be productive while he had the time. And he was actually _writing_ the report this time, not stopping for any self-indulgent detours.  
  
By the time a full half an hour had sluggishly ticked over, Alfred had driven himself dizzy, rocking over his own axis, with restlessness, finishing his report was a lost cause, not when words had lost all sense and Alfred’s concentration blinked, unwaveringly, between two, specific questions.  
  
_What was Arthur doing in the bathroom?_

_And why was it taking him so long?_  
  
He couldn’t take it anymore.  
  
Images had congregated, _swarmed_ , inside his head—images of Arthur _somehow_ escaping or, worse, hurting himself, the vivid blitz of his imagination flashing behind his eyes like an old, flickering, silent movie that featured death after clumsy death in an attempt at humor. Arthur couldn’t have strapped himself to train tracks, sure, but he could have strangled himself with the shower hose.  
  
Panic bubbled up from his stomach, surging his limbs into life, and he jumped up, steaming ahead and barging into the bathroom. The door swung open under the impact of Alfred’s body, having been unlocked, but the alpha spared no time to curse himself for that mistake and instead scanned his gaze over every available space in the bathroom…  
  
…and frowned when he located the omega, nestled among a mess of towels on the floor, sweating and breathing heavily.

.

Arthur’s time alone in the washroom had been a trial.

At first he'd attempted splashing his face with cold water, but the heated burn of red that smattered his skin never left and the rough tug of his heart gently crooned that he was overreacting, everything was fine, and _would he please open that door and find Alfred again thank you very much?_ It was dizzying, like another entity had gripped him and was now whispering soft, pleasing things into his ear.

And after nearly half a year on the run, his worn down body was eager—almost blindly _desperate_ —to follow whatever strange notions popped into his head at that very moment.

Arthur exhaled warm breath after warm breath, trying to steady himself against the counter, when he had the momentary flicker of an idea that he should slip his hand down the back of his shorts.

Before he could think on it, that was precisely what he was doing.

The pads of his index and middle fingers met a viscous dampness and he prodded at it, shuddered, a silent keen stifling in his throat as his vision gave a delighted spin and his body flared with newfound _need_.

Terror immediately found him.

As an omega, he was familiar with this feeling. It was a spell of heat, a short-lived burst of arousal that left him wet and writhing, and, like any of his kind, he had most certainly taken the necessary sick days in the past due to such an ailment. But a question rang firm and loud and horrified in his mind, like the toll of an old bell:

_Why now?_

It was enough to make his eyes water as he scrubbed back tears and bit down sobs. This was his weakness, left open and available, all privacy stripped from him. His now and future were one—dark enslavement to a being he never wanted to meet. He couldn’t even find fear in him at the alpha in the other room, for if not Alfred then who? Someone older? Someone more vicious? His choices were like mice skittered off into a hole, beyond his reach, unavailable, and thoroughly questionable.

The pulsing flames of his temporary heat licked away his worries like a balm, however. It caressed away sorrow, eased anxiety, and soon enough he found himself carefully removing the extra towels from the rack and dropping them onto the tile, shuffling about the limited cloth until he was laying down with some semblance of comfort. Relax… _Relax_...

Time slipped in and out of his consciousness, so Arthur had no idea how long he had been in there when the door sudden clattered open with a startling bang. The omega’s brain felt like soft pudding as he whined and curled in on himself, fearful from a place that skipped his higher mind and went straight into his blood.

.

Alfred winced as the omega started, releasing a reedy cry and rolling up like a hedgehog under the vigilant eye of a cat. Inspecting what he could see of Arthur and determining no signs of harm, Alfred sank down to rest on his haunches, ensuring his every movement was controlled and calm.  
  
Arthur was nesting, that much was evident.  
  
The alpha felt his nerves ball up in his gut, sitting there and leaking worry into him. Outside of heats, an omega’s nesting instinct only presented itself when said omega was in a state of severe distress. Alfred hadn’t thought his prying would be so detrimental to Arthur’s well being—not enough to cause the omega to hole himself up the bathroom and burrow into a bunch of damp towels.  
  
With nothing better to say, the alpha breathed, “Are you okay?”

Along with Alfred’s voice rolled the hint of a spiced scent, like a serpent’s tongue, and Arthur found himself unwinding as his muscles relaxed, the alpha’s timbre a gentle sound that caused his mind to ease. Even if it had only been a day, Alfred was some semblance of familiar, a far cry from the foreboding darkness of a stranger, and as the omega’s eyes regarded him he found that the dirty bulb above cast a warm glow over the alpha’s golden hair.

A dangerous hiss of warmth trickled through him and Arthur felt an embarrassing gush of wetness in his shorts.

“I— I…” Arthur stammered, as though his problem was spread out for everyone to see, face going redder as blood circulated erratically in his body, his breathing quickening and his hormones rising up like a tide, blotting out thought.

Perhaps after several months half-starved, scared, cold, and struggling, it was no wonder the omega’s body would put up a full and total rebellion, spiriting away his logical mind as he shifted onto his back and carefully, almost _expectantly_ , spread his legs.

It was a gradual realisation, as though Alfred was moving closer and closer towards a raincloud but he didn’t notice the rain until he was in the epicentre of the storm—a tropical, sultry storm that induced a hot fever as each droplet collided with his skin.  
  
Arthur was in heat.  
  
Alfred’s entire mouth went dry and he gasped for air but by doing so he breathed in a lungful of Arthur’s drugging, _luscious_ heat scent—a cocktail of flower nectar and ripe fruits and a pure, base pheromone that buried itself into the fabric of Alfred’s being. The scent plummeted directly to Alfred’s groin, sending a throb across his pelvis and he felt his control bleeding away from, swirling out of every pore and into the air.  
  
_Holy shit._ Alfred had been around omegas in heat before, and it was overwhelming, but never like _this_. Arthur was like _catnip_ or something for alphas.  
  
He was harder than he’d ever been in his life, the arousal so thick and powerful through his veins; he was more addled by it than he had been when he’d first discovered masturbation as a teenager.  
  
The omega was turned about, angling himself, _presenting_ himself, to Alfred, his legs parted wide so Alfred could see the transparent wet patch his slick had left on his shorts.  
  
He needed to get out before he was reduced to nothing more than a bundle of untainted animal instinct and fucked the omega until he wasn’t able to stand, to _think_ , because that was _all_ Alfred wanted to do in that moment.  
  
“ _Artie_ …” he ground out, short for breath. “I’m gonna… get something. Stay here, please.”  
  
Alfred scrambled out of the bathroom, diving for his bag, hands desperate as they searched for a container of pills—r _ut-diffusing_ pills. Alfred liked to think he was an upstanding alpha, that he wouldn’t take advantage of an omega, but this rut was coming at him something fierce and he didn’t stand a chance against it.

.

As Arthur’s mind whirred down to the slow clicking of a primal machine, gears worn with dulled edges, a fog of steam obscuring the larger picture from view, he found distress in the sudden departure of the one whom he had reached out for, inviting into himself. Sitting up, he exhaled a tense breath at the way a thick bundle of towel pressed up against him, and he shifted to increase the pressure, eyelashes fluttering.

He _hated_ his heats for this very reason; Arthur always became a creature unlike himself. His waking mind loathed the wanton nature of his instincts, how he begged into pillows and blankets like a shameless whore for some alpha cock to _save him_ from his misery. There were too many instances where he would have given anything to have a partner, and the facility surely knew that.

But the mindlessness washed everything blank, all gone: no more paranoia, no more irritation, no more fear, no more worry, no more anxiety, no more suspicion. He felt drunk or drugged, blessedly freed, and for the moment his entire body reveled in the sensation.

A flash heat, as basic as they came, beading sweat along his skin and making his breathing feel tight. Arthur keened a needy wail when the alpha didn’t return immediately, and flopped back onto the tile, wincing at the lack of softness his makeshift nest afforded him.

.

Arthur’s moans reverberated in Alfred’s ears, whispering a dark, seductive spell into his mind. He shook himself, ignoring the omega’s cries for now; he wasn’t moving a muscle until the medication had a physical effect on him. The pills’ packaging promised fast-acting properties which he was thankful for, the alpha didn’t want to leave Arthur on the musty bathroom floor for longer than he needed to.  
  
Counting to ten, taking in deep gulps of air, the alpha felt the medication steadily climb to his head, clearing the fog from the heat pheromones and muting his senses.

He sniffed the air, testing the usefulness of the pills—they worked, it seemed. It was akin to suffering from a particularly vicious cold, icky with nasal congestion. He could still smell but everything was a distant echo of its original vibrancy. Arthur’s heat scent was little more than a tickle on the fringes of his mind.

He wouldn’t forget, though. He could never forget that scent.  
  
Now he had the problem of _dealing with_ Arthur and he had no idea what to do. Unexpected heats were barely touched upon in training because the scenario was highly unlikely—trackers were only supposed to be with omegas for a few hours after all.  
  
Either way, Arthur would catch his death on those unforgiving tiles. Alfred would have to move him on to the bed, and he was sure the omega was in no fit state to walk.  
  
A ripple of relief washed over him as he stepped into the bathroom, finding Arthur folded in on himself and not presenting to Alfred ever so beautifully, those lovely legs parted, offering a teasing view of what was between them. Alfred may have tamed his rut but he was still a red-blooded alpha, medication or not, and he was helpless to the desire to do all kinds of wicked, filthy things to the omega.  
  
Carrying Arthur to the bed was going to be tricky; the omega was probably going to… become excitable. He was still fully capable of smelling Alfred.  
  
Alfred came to the conclusion that moving Arthur as fast as possible was the key and, with that, he tucked an arm under Arthur’s knees and threw his other arm around his back, praying Arthur wouldn’t be quick to re-orientate himself and start… grinding or rubbing or _touching_ in general.

And for that, the alpha’s hopes would be quickly dashed.

Arthur was no stranger to exhaustion, even one so permeating as the fatigue that lingered at the edges of his senses, but he had slept earlier in the day under the siren song of a tranquilizer and now his brain was running at full capacity due to the temporary flash of heat, instilling his muscles with a vitality that only an omega desperate for company could muster.

So it wasn’t a notable fact when Arthur squirmed in Alfred’s hold, blood ignited by the presence of an alpha— _by the heated touch of an alpha_ —and found leverage on the man, pulling himself up to nuzzle and bite at his neck in a playful, inviting tease.

Arthur’s lips, soft and insistent, flitted over the sensitive pulse points of Alfred’s neck, and, _god_ , he could feel the inviting, damp warmth between Arthur’s legs pressing against him, grinding in _just_ the right way. It was too much—all of it, he could hardly breathe, hardly stop himself from envisioning what it would be like to bring the omega to the cusp of bliss, suspend him there, _torment_ him until he begged.  
  
Peeling the omega from him, wrestling with clingy, fighting limbs, Alfred had to drop Arthur onto the bed and skitter away, distancing himself from all contact.  
  
“ _Shit_ —…” Alfred groaned, rearranging his pants and trying to look away from Arthur in an effort to retain some of the guy’s dignity. He sure wasn’t going to be able meet Alfred's eye when this had blown over. “I think the best thing to do is, I go into the bathroom and you… you _take care_ of yourself in here, okay? You can have as much time as you need, just—… shout me when you’re feeling better. How does that sound?”  
  
It didn’t sound the least bit appealing if the whine that bubbled up in Arthur’s throat was any indication, the omega squirming on the motel bed as flighty fingers pushed at the bedspread. He wasn’t comfortable and secure—it wasn’t yet a nest. And the alpha with him, in whom he was putting a heat-strickenly large amount of trust in, was rejecting him. _Why?_ Why would he do that? The omega’s brain couldn’t fathom a reason that made sense aside from the idea that he, _Arthur_ , was the problem.

“Please…” The omega begged breathily, wet, sounding on the cusp of desperate tears. “Please don’t leave… Everyone—… Everyone just leaves…”

Arthur’s words were riddled with a deep-seated kind of an ache that struck a chord in Alfred.

Biting his lip, Alfred regarded the omega squirming around on the bed with a growing pool of sultry desire. He wanted to help—wanted to touch him, _boy_ , did he. The alpha’s fingers twitched, tongue heavy inside his mouth and he found his feet falling forward, stepping towards the bed.

_No_ , he thought, stopping himself. It was against the rules. Rescued omegas weren’t to be touched, that had been drilled into him during training, and it’d be dishonourable to touch Arthur without his lucid consent, which didn’t include pleas from a heat-soaked omega.

Arthur didn’t really _want_ Alfred; he was simply convenient to Arthur.

“I’m not leaving you—I’ll be right in the next room. And if you need me, you can just shout.”

He scuttled into the bathroom knowing the longer his eyes lingered on Arthur, the more tempted he would be do _something_ he shouldn’t be doing.

There was only one thing he could think to do and it involved calling his superiors for the second time in the span of a few hours. _Lucky him._

Despite the late hour, he received a prompt, sharp answer. It was a short, clinical phone call, considering Alfred’s flushed nerves and the writhing omega on the opposite of the door to him, but he was rewarded with the solution he’d been hoping for—a specialized team were intervening, taking over essentially. After being advised that the team would be there within the hour and to seal himself in the bathroom, which was a given, Alfred hung up.

Alfred was left with a wad of frustration in his stomach after the call ended, for this was the first unfinished job on his record, a blemish on his outstanding history. While it was a bitter taste being forced to relinquish his responsibility, it was in Arthur’s and _his_ best interests. Alfred wasn’t equipped to handle these kinds of circumstances; he was only human, after all.

Alfred was doing the right thing.

.

The _last_ thing an omega in heat wanted was to be left alone, especially after having had the hope of company dangled before them.

Arthur was a complete mess, sprawled out on the bed, showered and cleaned and fed and dressed, but cold despite his heated skin and aching with a core-deep loneliness that penetrated his very being, body left wanting as he produced slick that left him damp in chafing clothing. It wasn’t long before he had stripped himself, discarding his newly acquired shorts and underwear and throwing them _somewhere_ , before dragging his fingers along the hole in his body that wanted nothing but to be filled, inserting his index, and keening.

Embarrassing or not, he knew only one answer to his plight. “ _Alfred_ …”

His voice was a creaky symphony of biological imperative.

“Alfred please… Come back… _Please_ …”

He imagined the alpha returning, changing his mind, _not rejecting him_ , and soothing the burning in Arthur’s body. He imagined his fingers belonged to the other male, pulling him apart and leaving him a dizzied wreck. He imagined the alpha going feral like in television smut, rutting against him, in him, knotting, and growling lewd things, unable to help himself just as much as Arthur. The omega orgasmed to that imagery, crying out against a pillow, sweat-sheened and gasping as his body embraced a rush of relief followed by crippling disappointment at the absence of a thickening knot inside of him.

Arthur’s eyes welled up in the short reprieve, a helpless sensation gripping him that he had no ability to fight against. He didn’t feel safe or loved or hidden—he felt tired and scared and horny.

The sudden sound of sharp, heavy knocking on the motel door didn’t help. No, instead it made Arthur’s heart leap up into his throat, mindless of time, as the sorry excuse for an entrance allowed strangers inside. Did they have a key? Did they kick the wood in? Arthur wasn’t sure. All he knew was that suddenly there was a chaos of noise, the onset of an invasion, and humans in strange outfits with strange masks and machines and medical equipment filled space that should have been dark and friendly and comforting.

“—a flash heat.”

“Get him onto the—,”

“Be careful with that—,”

“—cover him with—,”

Hands grabbed him, cloth was thrown over him, and Arthur struggled, feeling weak and threatened and _crying_ , because wasn’t it always like this? He could never fight the things he wanted to fight and now his instinctive mind was hollering in alarm, angered by the intrusion into his heat regardless of whether or not he had a proper den.

_“Alfred!”_ He called, yelling for help, because he could. When that failed, _“Allistair!”_

“—shock, I think we should—,”

“Yeah, hand me the syringe, I’ll—,”

“His heart rate is—,”

“Easy now, easy…”

Something stung him, like a mosquito bite, and Arthur felt a prickling sensation run up his arm. And then it all sank away, down, into a dreamy sort of silence, peace and darkness creeping in until the masked faces that stared down at him seemed nothing more than a nightmare.

Then it all stopped, replaced by familiar nonexistence.

.

When Arthur next awoke he found himself staring up at a pastel blue ceiling, a lamp designed like a strange sun and a ceiling fan overhead that drifted around in lazy circles. He watched it, uncomprehending, for several long minutes before he lifted his head and looked around himself.

He found a room with strange, childlike designs on the walls—rabbits and trees and clouds—a table to one side, a wall-mounted television on another, and a door set across from the bed he lay on that looked overly secure with a reinforced glass window.

Peering down at himself, Arthur was slowly coming around to distress when he found that he was clothed in no more than a strange bedgown.

Someone tapped on the door, a nurse of sorts it seemed, and let herself in, all gentle beta smiles as she carried a tray with a paper cup and some water.

“I thought you might be awake,” she said carefully. “I’ve brought a little something for your head; it must be pounding something awful. You’ve had quite the past few days, haven’t you?”

Arthur wasn’t listening to her.

The beta woman had a medical tag around her neck, hanging down below her breasts, and he was just barely able to make out the lettering of OBP in dark bold in the top left corner.

If she said anything more he didn’t hear her.

He was too busy coming to the realization that this was it—he’d been caught and delivered. This was the facility.

His life was over.

This was the end.


End file.
